


Mirror Image

by teenagewristband



Category: Common Law, Graceland (TV)
Genre: Angst, Common Law Series Spoilers, Crossover, Graceland Season 01-02 Spoilers, M/M, Sibling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenagewristband/pseuds/teenagewristband
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A frantic call in the middle of the night sends Wes to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Officer Down

**Author's Note:**

> So I just finished marathoning the first two seasons of Graceland on Netflix and this happened. And I need it out of my head for now so here it is. It is a work in progress.
> 
> I'm also making my way through the Common Law Kink Meme so it's going to be a busy summer.

“I've been...shot. I need you, can you come get me?”

For a minute Wes thinks it's Travis on the other end of the line. Not because it sounds like Travis, it doesn't. His thought process shorts out for a heartbeat because he doesn't know another man that would call him in the witching hours needing this kind of desperate, urgent help. Then it dawns on Wes that he does, but that person is supposed to be in Washington, D.C., with a desk job. Labored breathing filters through the phone.

“Mike, stay with me Mike. Mikey I'm on my way. _Where are you?”_ Wes is throwing on clothes, collecting his keys, while trying to coach the man on the phone to stay conscious long enough to give the particulars. It takes the amount of time for Wes to run down the stairs to the parking garage and start his car to get enough rasped out information to his destination. 

“I'm practically there Mikey, hang on. I'm coming. I'm coming.” As much as he hates to Wes disconnects the call, dials to make the only call he can.

“This is not a recreational call,” he says immediately to forestall whatever has popped into Travis' head to say when he saw Wes' name on the caller i.d. Most likely something dirty since Travis has a thing for trying to make him hard in the most inappropriate places and at the most inappropriate times. 

“Whichever sibling you have that's a paramedic, a doctor, a nurse, I need you to come to me and bring them with you. I've got an off the books GSW, lower abdomen I think from his breathing. Lights, no sirens I'll text the location." On the other end of the line, Wes can hear the rustling of Travis getting dressed, grabbing up what's necessary.

“Hurry Travis." 

 

When Wes finds Mike Warren, propped against the cinder block wall of the abandoned building, he's barely conscious, his breathing seems a little more ragged than it was before. 

“Hey, Mikey. I'm here.” Mike's eyes flutter but don't open.

Wes doesn't think there's any chance he's stable enough to get to a hospital, and if he had wanted a hospital he wouldn't have called Wes. Mike is also not stable enough to stay on the floor of the building either. Wes keeps an earthquake kit in the trunk of his car that's fitted with what the Red Cross recommends, plus what he believes to be absolute essentials. Opening the kit he brought in with him, he takes out a pair of latex gloves and a pressure bandage, lifts Mike's blood saturated shirt. The wound isn't through and through. He tries not to let that panic him.

He holds the bandage firmly in place, as the man on the floor shivers under his hand.

“It's okay, Mikey. I'm here. I'm here.” He pulls off one of the gloves with his teeth so he can run his bare hand through sweat damp hair. “I got you. You're gonna be okay. I got you.”

Blue eyes flutter open briefly to look at Wes. Or at least in Wes' general direction. “Paul,” Mike mumbles weakly before slipping into unconsciousness again.


	2. Persons of Interests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis does what he can.

Frankly, Travis is at a loss. Everything that's gone down in the last couple of hours has come as a complete surprise wrapped in a lot of brand new information. In his head those words are all in capital letters. BRAND NEW INFORMATION. At the moment both he and Wes are sort of exiled from his trailer which looks more like an emergency room than a living space. The man he now knows is Mike Warren is set up in his bed being attended to by his foster sister, Sara, a nurse and her girlfriend Azaline, an actual ER doc with field medicine experience. Foster brother Rudy was also just completing his EMT shift for the night with a private ambulance company when Travis got him on the line. God was definitely looking out for them tonight. He'd hate to think what he'd be doing right now if he hadn't been able to get those resources in play. 

 

It probably, definitely would have been something other than watching Wes try to pace a hole into the concrete of the warehouse. He watches the agitated back and forth as his partner works his own way through the events of the last few hours. Deep concentration lines crease his forehead as he attempts to put these pieces together. 

 

Travis finds himself still working on the first piece. The idea that Wes is a big brother to someone although, it seems like it's a relationship that's mostly on paper like Travis' with his biological parents, is kind of baffling for any number of reasons. 

“This is Mike, my little brother,” Wes had said with quiet anguish when Travis arrived with the calvary. 

It's that anguish that stutters Travis' processing of the rest of the situation, like the fact that it's off the books, that Wes was adamant about not going to the hospital. The resources Travis has access to through his siblings are as wide in breadth as his siblings are in number. It would be no problem to kit the trailer out like a full ER, but Mike Warren should be in a hospital. His sister has said that to him outright twice now and also done a thing with her eyebrows like she did when they were kids and she didn't want their mom to know what she was saying. 

“He's a Fed.”

It's said so softly, Travis thinks maybe he misheard. He blinks into the moment to find Wes staring at him intently.

“What?”

“I thought he was in D.C. I mean all he ever wanted to be was a Fed. He shouldn't be in LA. There's no _reason_ for him to be in LA.”

“Wait, _wait_ hold up. So when that stuff went down with Jason, and we had the whole trust exercise, it didn't occur to you to mention that you had a brother. Or that he was a _Fed_? What the hell is going on Wes?

“It's complicated.”

“My brother was doing straight up armed robbery. Yours is a _Fed_.

“You see my point then,” The half smile that crosses Wes' face looks like it hurts.

“My mom will freak out if she finds out. She thinks her sons are both paper pushing bureaucrats.”

“Focus Wes, you don't even speak to your mother.”

“When I was six, she took the baby and moved East.”

Travis did know that Wes' parents split when he was a kid, but he didn't know this. That his mother had actually made a choice between her kids, that she hadn't chosen Wes. Wes had been abandoned like he was. Wes rubs his forefinger back and forth over his knuckles, back and forth as he paces. Back and forth. 

Travis needs to get Wes out of the family headspace. “If he's a Fed, someone is probably looking for him. 'Paul', maybe? Maybe that's his partner. He called you, so maybe the number is on the phone.”

That turns out to be the wrong thing to say.

“ _I_ know. He called _me_.”

“I understand that, but -”. 

“Did you see him Travis? Did you see what they did to his face. Someone beat him up, _shot_ him. He didn't call 911, or the Bureau, he called me. There's a reason for that. He stays off the radar. Whoever the hell Paul is that's not who he called when he was bleeding out in an abandoned building.”

It's not as if Travis needed any other indication that Detective Wes has gone AWOL for the moment. 

It means something when you come upon a vic, he mutters a name, he fights the way Mike Warren had when Travis' sister tried to give him a local, because he's calling that name. That's something to note. When that name is the pretty much the only thing he says when he is slipping in and out of consciousness, it means something. 

 

If Wes can't get into detective headspace then Travis needs, for the moment, to meet him where he is. Stepping directly in front of Wes, Travis interrupts his pacing. Sliding his hand over the forefinger worrying his knuckles, he wraps his other arm around Wes' shoulders. Pulls him close.

“I'm sorry about your brother. You know whatever you need, whatever this is, I got your back.” It's gratifying to feel the tension in his partner's body break against his. 

As his arm tightens around Wes, he scrolls through his mental contact list for the roster of which siblings could help them keep a medically compromised Fed on the down low indefinitely. 

 

The sun will be up shortly. Although he's not entirely sure what they're going to do about Wes' brother, he does know that neither of them are going to make it into the station today. 

“I should probably pick up some more food, get you a change of clothes.” 

Wes pulls out of the embrace, takes in the dried spots of blood on the cuffs and bottom edge of his sweatshirt.

“Yeah, thanks. Yeah, that's a good idea.”

“I know it is baby. Give me your key.” 

“Thank you,” Wes says again as he fishes the key out of his wallet and hands it over. 

“I'll be back as quick as I can,” 

Travis presses a quick chaste kiss to Wes' mouth. 

He'd mostly been dozing when Wes called him. After getting everyone rounded up, Travis muted his phone. Once in the car, he pulls the phone out of his pocket, ups the volume. Mom number sixteen might still have a hook up with a medical supply place. Before he can dial anything, the phone buzzes and vibrates in his hand like Christmas. 

“The hell.” 

He's already pulled onto the street so without sparing a glance at the screen. He voice commands his phone to call the station first. 

“Where the **hell** are you Marks?”

“Top of the morning to you too Cap.”

“Don't be a smart ass, get the other half of the dynamic duo, who coincidentally isn't answering his phone either, and get your asses in here.”

They haven't made anything official on the job because they'll be separated, but the Captain isn't stupid. They all seem to be operating under don't ask, don't tell for the foreseeable future. 

“We can't. I'm helping Wes with a family thing...in San Diego.”

San Diego is plausible there's enough time between when they left the station last night and now to make that work. This buys them a couple of hours. 

“Some shit went down in the Gang Task Force. Dirty cops maybe, dirtier Feds, the Solano Cartel. It's all hands on deck. The Bureau's probably going to be crawling all over our house.”

“Sorry Cap, Wes is really gonna need a couple days, but I'll be in as quick as I can. With traffic, I can't make any guarantees.”  
“The Fed involved is detain on sight. Be advised he's considered armed and dangerous. One of the unit is also missing. I already sent photos, a rundown. Maybe while you and Mitchell are in 'San Diego', you could turn up a lead.”

When the call ends, Travis' brain slots the pieces together in a way he wishes it wouldn't. _Please don't be true._ Runs through his head as he pulls up the Captain's texts. An unblemished photo of Special Agent Mike Warren takes up his phone screen. He can see echoes of Wes in his face, that aren't readily apparent in his current state.

Travis quickly scans through the details – wanted for questioning about multiple murders in Tecate including those of the four gang cops. He recognizes all of them. Archie and Martinez were in his Academy class. Hodges he runs into, ran into a few mornings a week at the Starbuck's. Sid Markham was in the class two ahead of his, but he's certainly seem him around the station. On television. There have been some instances of intel sharing over the years as well. Sid Markham has a reputation for being an effective bad ass. This is devastating.

The face of the last officer at the end of the scroll is unfamiliar. It doesn't matter. Apparently, Travis has finished processing the sudden appearance of Wes' younger, Fed brother. His mind has shifted to actively working the case. Mike Warren's barely conscious moaning of the first name on the caption under the final picture is one coincidence too many. Paul West moves to the number one position Travis' person of interest list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and finish this before Graceland starts making new canon on the 25th. I may look at the new trailer for Season 3 and use some of that maybe, but yeah that's the goal.


	3. Wants and Warrants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis makes contact.

The white noise is interesting. Paul Briggs stands in the fire pit staring at the water. There is so much going on that there should be something. Usually his mind is popping on all cylinders calculating outcomes, moving assets, perps and other players around in his mind so that he is always one step ahead. It's been more than necessary to keep Odin Rossi out of custody. This is when he's at his best, when shit is going down all around him. Now, however there's a white noise where his operational mojo would be. He's got nothing and he needs to find something. 

Mike is in the wind which can not stand. Bates was good. Competent. Slid right into place in the house, no drama, no friction. But Mike was...Mike was, is challenging. Under his skin. Briggs likes challenges. More or less likes Mike when he's not being an asshole. Not that he actually minded Asshole Mike. Warren kept him on his toes. Flint and steel. Without Mike, the house is out of balance, not the home that it was. Warren has definitely left his mark. He needs to be found. Still the noise persists. 

 

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

Moving around the hotel room like a dervish, Travis shoves clothes into a duffel. He's got a couple of sweatshirts and a pair of jeans at Wes' place so he adds those to the mix as well. In the back of his mind he can hear Wes sighing loudly at him for not taking the time to fold each item. There's no time for that, not that he would if he had all day. Now they aren't just keeping a Fed on the down low, they're harboring a fugitive. A cop killer. He would do that for Wes, but murdering cops, that's a line in the sand he will not cross. He'd considered calling his partner as soon as he got off the phone with the captain, but he doesn't want Wes to be alone when he finds out about his brother. He distinctly remembers the other man turning off his phone. It had buzzed when the doc was giving a rundown of the Fed's vitals. He hopes the preoccupation keeps Wes from checking his phone any time soon. 

On the way back, Travis fires up the siren. 

It's quiet as a church when he steps into the warehouse. In the trailer bedroom, Wes stares at the even rise and fall of the mostly still figure on the bed. Like this, he doesn't look like a cop killer. He looks like someone who would cry if he accidentally stepped on a bug. Travis sets down the duffel on the floor. His partner doesn't look at him. His eyes stay glued to the bed. 

 

“You checked your phone?”

“Yeah,” comes back softly. 

“So -”

“So -, “Wes parrots back. This time he does look at Travis. Travis steels himself against the expression on his lover's face. It's the same expression, he had when he realized his client was innocent, when he told Travis he and Alex were divorcing. Lost, a little broken. It's a look that always precedes Wes falling into an emotional black hole. Anger wells. Those feelings, those days should be long over. Dead and buried is where they should stay. For one irrational moment, Travis wants to kick the man on the bed, kick him hard. Instead, he takes deep breath, focuses on the matter at hand.

“I bought us some time, baby.”

“My brother **does not** kill cops.”

Travis notes that Wes doesn't mention the dead cartel members, but that's just semantics he guesses. He doesn't know Mike Warren well enough to agree. His m.o. is to always tell Wes the truth so he can't sign off on this assertion. He just does the best that he can.

“Okay, baby. Look why don't you hop into the shower. Your clothes are in the duffel.”

Wes looks for a moment like he's going to press the issue before his shoulders slump.

With a quick glance at his brother, “Yeah, okay.”

A few moments after the water starts running in the shower, Travis steps into the bathroom to grab Wes' clothes. Warren's burner is still in the back pocket of the sweatpants. There are only two numbers. Stepping out of the bathroom, Travis dials the one that's not Wes'.

It's picked up on the first ring.

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

It takes Briggs a moment to separate the new sound out of the white noise and the crash of the waves. The caller i.d. indicates and unknown number, he hits talk immediately. There is nothing but breathing on the other end of the line.

“What do you want?”

“Paul West?”

Briggs breathes deep. He's not made, that's a plus. He can work with that. The question, is it someone on behalf of Sid or Mike.

“It could be. Who's this?”

“Seems you might be in some trouble Detective. I'm willing to hear your story, offer some assistance. Brother to brother. ”

“I'm an only child.”

“That's not what my friend Mike Warren tells me.”

The white noise at the edges of his consciousness starts to fade. 

“It's funny Mikey never mentioned you to me.”

“Then let me make this easy for you Detective West. Travis Marks. Warren and I have a mutual acquaintance. You and I should have a chat. Alone.”

“Sure, I enjoy a good chat. When and where.”

Briggs listens intently as the voice on the other line gives him an address in the industrial part of downtown. 

 

D.J. looks at him with all kinds of 'no' on his face. 

“Look I feel your speech and all, but you know I can't, you know why I can't. Same reason you can't. You got lucky tonight. You have to know that man, both ways. Either you lose a kid tonight or your kid loses a father. You got lucky.”

Briggs absorbs that. It doesn't deter him. 

“It's _Mike_. He didn't do this and if we let it go down a dirty cop walks. I don't give a shit about Solano. You want Sid to walk. Even if his team was dirty, look what he did to them. Look what he did to us, not the house to _us_.” 

“Mike did this.”

“Because Mike is the good guy. Good guys don't let people like Sid walk free. We're the goddamn good guys. That's how you want your kid to think of you right?”

“You're an asshole.”

“True, but I'm also right.”

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

Travis waits for the yelling to start. Wes looks much better now that he's had the opportunity to get out of his blood stained clothes. His dress shirt and slacks are slightly wrinkled, You didn't fold anything, but the change has helped him recover himself.

 

“What did you do,” instead his voice is a kind of scary quiet which might be worse than potential yelling.

“There are two obvious players in what ever is going down here, so I invited the other one to join us.”

“If he comes heavy, we have no way to defend against that.”

“It's only a problem if he's cartel. And with Solano Sr. out of play, it's probably a free for all right now. If West is a good cop, he brings S.W.A.T.” 

“Did you bring more bullets?”

“If S.W.A.T. shows, our story is your brother surrendered to you. We get him in a safehouse. Protected.”

“If he comes light?”

“It's one thing to assassinate cops in Tecate, it's a different deal on U.S. soil.”

“And the extra bullets are where?”

“I might have an extra clip or two in my pocket. We've got a few minutes want to check and see?”


	4. Chain of Custody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Briggs arrives on the scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assume if you're reading you're familiar with both shows. In this Chapter I mostly used Brigg's alias Paul West since that's how Travis and Wes would know him initially. Hopefully it's not too confusing.

There are no bullets in Travis' pocket. That's obvious just by looking. It's equally obvious what Travis is trying to do. Paul West may be the one responsible for framing his brother for multiple murders, for trying to kill him. Paul West may be the actual killer. If he comes light there's no guarantee Wes won't shoot him. The flirting, the come on, those are generally sure fire ways to distract him. Get him out of his head. He checks the new clip before he loads it. If he wasn't already in love with Travis Marks, this situation would have him putting it under serious consideration. 

He's not exactly distracted from the fact he wants to put a bullet into whoever did this to his brother, but his trigger finger is slightly less itchy. If West comes light, he might get the chance to plead his case. A warm palm settles on the back of his neck. 

“You good?”

“Yeah, give me a minute.”

Okay, I'll send the text to Kate.”

Wes nods as he steps back into the bedroom to check on his brother. There's no blood on the dressing and his breathing appears to be good, steady. He cards his fingers through his brother's hair. 

“What the hell did you get yourself into Mikey?”

He watches the rise and fall of his brother's chest for a few more minutes, before leaving the room to take position.

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

Travis hates Paul West on sight. The door to the warehouse had been left unlocked and the other man rolls in with a swagger specific to Los Angeles players. His jacket says he transferred in to the LAPD from El Paso, but he's all L.A. in a way Travis has seen on assholes on both sides of the law. West in particular reads ambiguous. It's hard to tell which side of the law he's on. It should be easier since Detective precedes the man's name, but no, the person coming toward him is rolling in like a perp. A hot perp with a gorgeous shit eating grin on his face.

“Travis Marks,” West calls as he moves forward, careful to stay out of striking distance. “I know the P.D. pays shit, but this is a little extreme don't you think?”

Travis knows he's a match in the grin Olympics so he calls up an answering one of his own.

“I guess it would seem so to someone with a DTO enhanced retirement plan.” There's a ripple across the 'nothing to see here' expression on West's face. The easy grin doesn't dim by much, but it does.

Travis files it away for future consideration. 

“I guess we'll just cut to the chase then.” 

West draws the weapon at his back. It doesn't come as a surprise. Travis clocked it from his gait. He pulls his own. The grin gets bigger, more shit eating. Travis thinks he might actually enjoy putting a bullet in Detective West just for the hell of it.

“Mike Warren, where is he?”

“Why don't you tell me what happened in Mexico?”

“I think you've been misinformed. I wasn't in Mexico.” The grin belies his words. All that's missing is an exaggerated stage wink.

“Not what the BOLO said. Your team is dead. You seem to be the only one who came back without a bullet hole for a souvenir.”

“Sid Markham was actually in Mexico, where is _he_ now?”

“You're saying Markham is dirty?” It's not something that crossed Travis' mind. It should have. 

“I'm saying I want to see Mike Warren. _Now_.”

There's the click of another gun being cocked above and behind Travis.

“You might want to do what my man says,” rumbles the voice that goes with the gun. 

Travis clocks that the other man, West's partner, is most likely on top of his trailer. He'll give the man points for his stealth. But he's got a stealthy sidekick of his own, who sometimes has his own flair for the dramatic. 

Wes steps from the shadows behind Paul West. His glock levels at the man's head. 

“It's rude to pull a gun on your host. Almost as a rude as it would be to shoot a guest in the back, no matter how tempted. I was raised better than that.” 

 

West only smiles. His gun on Travis doesn't waver.

“I thought you said alone, Marks.”

Travis turns slow, deliberate, sizing up and lining up the dreadlocked man behind him in his sights. 

“I did. Looks like we have ourselves an old fashioned standoff. I guess you're not as interested in Mike Warren as I thought. That's fine. You two back out of here now, no harm no foul.” 

“I didn't say I wasn't interested. I just need proof of life, you understand. Warren's no good to me dead.” 

Travis smiles at the man on top of his trailer. “Then Bob Marley here is gonna need to toss me his clip, then his weapon and come down.”

The man on the trailer flashes Travis a look of disgust. “Aren't you funny. I shoulda stayed in bed.”

For several tense seconds no one does anything. Then West turns so that Mitchell's gun is pointed right between his eyes. The grin doesn't falter. 

“Come down D.J. I don't think my brothers in blue mean us any _real_ harm.”

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

“I want to see him alone.” Even unarmed and at a disadvantage the attitude doesn't abate.

“Yeah, no. You wanted proof of life, really all that requires is that you can see his chest moving up and down.”

Lightening quick, West moves past Travis into the trailer before either of them can grab him. Wes is hot on his heels. In Travis' room, West throws back the blanket covering Mike, zeroing in on the bandage covering his gunshot wound. The way West touches his brother grates against every protective instinct. There's an intimacy about it that's disconcerting. Wes makes a move to intervene. But even as he takes the first step to follow West, he recognizes the practiced efficiency in the way his brother's vitals are being checked, the careful way the dressing is undone to get a close up at the wound and the work done to repair it. With a quick little nod to himself, West replaces the bandaging with the same practiced care he removed it. Somewhere in the midst of the ministrations, Mike has opened his eyes. Heavy lidded and drowsy, but they're open. 

“Hey, Mikey, the hell did you do kid?” There's a scolding affection underscored by sadness. If there were any remnants of the arrogance he seeps away in favor of a kind of shoulder slumping weariness that suddenly takes West over. 

“Charlie?” Mike murmurs. 

“Okay, at the house. But, okay.”

“The baby?” 

That startles a surprised squeak out of Wes, but neither of the other men in the room notice. So focused on each other. 

“They're both okay. I didn't have any choice Mikey, you know I had to go.”

Out of the corner of Wes' eye, the slow nod of his brother's head. 

“Briggs.”

“Yeah, Mikey.”

That's interesting, not surprising, but interesting Wes thinks. In the midst of trying to pick up the pieces of an Op gone tragically wrong, that the man who's shown up at his brother's bedside would answer to a name other than the one on the BOLO, is par for the course. Which means he most likely isn't LAPD, but he is law enforcement.

While he's adding that to the list of things to talk to Travis about along with 'baby' and 'Charlie', 'Briggs' moves gingerly on the edge of the bed, closer to Mike who slides his hand around the back of 'Briggs' neck. Wes is not sure whether to watch or turn away as his brother leans forward slowly and presses his mouth to 'Briggs'. The resistant body language on the other end of the kiss, doesn't last for long. Melts might be a little melodramatic, but 'Briggs' does some semblance of that. All the cockiness he rolled into the warehouse with disappears. Both of his hands slide up into his brother's hair, tilting his head in a way that says he's into it. Clutching in a way that says that he needed a little more than simple proof of life. 

 

Wes is conflicted about stepping out of the room. This is not a conversation they have ever had. By his sixteenth summer he'd more or less dropped out of his ten year old brother's life with the parting words _call me if you need anything_. He wonders if his brother would want him knowing this about him. His mother, their mother doesn't know about Travis. It's not a deliberate secret, but it also doesn't come up in conversation in the hour it takes to mow her lawn once a week. An hour he tries to plan to coincide with her not being at home. 

The mystery of why his brother was calling for this man has been more or less solved. Still West/Briggs is not the one Mike reached out to. Whatever this is exactly, it's obviously complicated. Mandatory couples therapy to keep his job, having an out of policy relationship with his partner, he understands complicated.

“If you'd stayed at Solano's....Sid, I didn't do this...I.”

“I know Levi. I know." West murmurs quietly as he strokes his hand across his forehead. Guides him down until his head's back on the pillow. Then finds his mouth again.

Nothing Wes has seen in the last couple of minutes, nothing he's heard in the tone of his brother's voice, indicates that West, Briggs whatever is an immediate threat, so discretion being the better part of valor, Wes steps out of the doorway of the bedroom, moving until he's outside with Travis and 'Bob Marley' .

Two sets of eyes land on him. Travis mostly just looks expectant. 'Bob Marley' sitting opposite Travis still looks disgusted. Before he can say anything to either of them, the door to the trailer flies open. West/Briggs is coming out, phone in hand, dialing.

 

“Who are you calling?” Wes is in his face before he realizes he's moved. That same smug look the man rolled into the warehouse with falls over his features. The vulnerability of minutes before is no longer visible. 

“Yeah, this set-ups not bad, I mean it's a downright miracle considering, but Mikey can't stay here. We need to move him to a more secure location. Preferably one with actual medical professionals.”

Travis bristles. “I got your medical professionals, asshole.”

“No.”

On reflex, Wes knocks the phone out of the asshole's hand, then all hell breaks loose. West swings, but Wes ducks in time for it to glance off his cheek. He loses his balance and starts to go down. Out of the corner of his eye he sees 'Bob Marley' coming for him. At the same time, Travis is up and on his feet bee-lining it to him as well. West is on him first. His fingers circle around Wes' neck and squeeze. 

The life ending power in the grip is unmistakable as is the murderous intent in his eyes. Wes pushes at his chest as hard he can, but the other man has gone feral. It isn't just about this moment either. It isn't just about his brother. Wes reads killer in the other man's eyes and a chill runs through him. Paul West fully intends to strangle him to death. 

Suddenly, their partners are on them. Travis and 'Bob Marley' work in tandem to pry them apart, but the fingers around Wes' throat keep squeezing. 

Travis pulls his service weapon. 

“Let him go.” The menace in Travis voice is as deadly as the hands around Wes' neck. 

“Really slick, that's how you want this to go down.” 

West's eyes glitter, but don't leave Mitchell's face. Wes' vision swims.

“Obviously, we got off on the wrong foot.” 'Bob Marley' says. “We're all tryin' to look out for Mike, right? So let's do that. Okay? Paul? Come on man.”

 

“Listen to your boy. You take your hands off my partner at the count of one. “One,” Travis caresses the trigger. A last squeeze and West let's go. 

“You son of a bitch,” Travis growls, his weapon still pointing at West's head.

Then he drops to the ground beside his partner. His finger runs gently over the tender, red skin of his partner's throat. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, help me up,” Wes rasps. Travis does as he requested without re-holstering his weapon or losing his situational awareness of the threat. A couple feet away D.J. holds onto Brigg's arm as the other man just smirks and shifts his weight from one foot to the other like a boxer waiting for his next round.

“Knock it off man,” D.J. mutters under his breath. “This shit does not need to escalate right now. Mike's okay, right? Right?”

It takes a second for Paul to focus on his partner. “Yeah, for now. Yeah.”

“Then you need to calm the hell down. Especially, until we get our guns back.”

“Travis, give us a minute?”

“ _Hell, no_. Are you kidding?”

“Just a minute. Really. Just some things about Mike I need a minute.” Travis' fingers again brush gently across irritated flesh.  
“I'm okay Travis.” Travis nods once more because of the determined resolve in his partner's eyes than actual agreement. He turns an angry, deadly glare of his own on the asshole.

“I _am_ a crack shot, if you put your hands on him again it will be the last time. There will be no warning shot.”

 

Without taking his eyes off of either of them, Travis backs away to a corner of the warehouse with good sight lines and a clear shot at Paul West's head. 

“It's okay D.J. I'm good.” 

D.J. releases his grip on his partner's arm. He retreats to the same corner as Travis, also watches with an eagle eye.

“Marks is your ride or die, interesting. You seem a little too GQ for that, unless it's all on the down low which, yeah that I could see. Rough trade, typical.”

Wes isn't even tempted to take that bait. It's a weak shot at best given what he's seen. 

“Yeah, he's my phone call. But you're not Mike's.” 

“Apparently not.”

“Who's Charlie?”

“None of your business.”

“If Mike has a kid, a family I have a right to know.”

The laugh that comes out of West is all kinds of condescending.

“Who the hell are you? I mean really. You have no rights here. I guess maybe you met Mikey at what, some seminar, a training exercise or something, did some white boy, ladder climbing bonding or some shit? You have _no_ standing here.”

“There were two numbers on his phone, he didn't call yours. _That's_ my standing.” 

That hits, but Wes finds no satisfaction in watching a kind of stricken expression pass quickly over West's face. The man means something to his younger sibling, Maybe vice versa. Maybe it's just part of whatever turned this op to shit. 

“I'm not surprised about the attitude. The bravado. I mean Feds can't help themselves right Special Agent Briggs? That's what Mike called you, right? Briggs. So Detective Paul West from El Paso is what? Your cover?”

“What do you want GQ?”

“I want Mike safe, exonerated. You came light so I guess you either want that or you want to shut him up. Take him out maybe.”

A flicker of what looks like guilt slashes across the Fed's face. Wes' hand twitches toward his weapon.

“Right. Mike stays in my custody. I'll concede that you might have access to resources, but we've got some of our own so that's almost a moot point. I understand you needed to see him. What I don't understand is why he's a person of interest. We're on tactical alert. If it's part of _his_ cover...” 

“Above your pay grade GQ.”

Nice. Well, until he says otherwise and I'm satisfied he's out of harm's way, you have to go through me. You do what you think is necessary, but you don't get Mike.”

The Agent clenches and unclenches his fists. Wes tenses, prepares for a blow that doesn't come. 

"What are you, the ex?" 

"If he wanted you to know..."

Only one fist clenched this time.

“He needs to be moved.”

“I understand that.”

“I'll be in touch GQ.”


	5. Appeals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An uneasy truce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purpose of this part, when Sid broke into Graceland he didn't see the picture of Mike with Page and Briggs.

White, the white is blinding. Mike blinks once, twice again and the white resolves into not quite a formless expanse, but a ceiling. Definitely not his style and not the dorm in Virginia or his place in D.C., definitely not Graceland. He jerks involuntarily. Graceland. Briggs. There's a pull on his lower abdomen. It hurts. Briggs. Briggs is...

Mike shoves himself into an upright position. He makes note of the I.V. in his arm, the armed blue eyed man in the corner of the room staring at him intently. He thinks he's seen him before. His thoughts are jumbled. Briggs is in the forefront like he's been for months, but the blue eyed guy is a factor and his brother. His brother. He'd been shot in Tecate and he'd called, “Wes.”

“Hey take it easy Mike,” says blue eyes as he rises to prevent the injured Fed from getting out of bed. He's armed, with what looks to Mike like a Glock, a service weapon, but doesn't draw on him. The Agent takes that as a good sign, for the moment. He perches on the edge of the bed and waits. He doesn't want to give away more than he maybe already has.

“Not exactly the greatest way to meet the in-laws,” blue eyes smirks as he extends his hand. “Detective Travis Marks.” Pain shoots across Mike's side as he reflexively extends his right hand to the man. Switching to his left hand instead, they do a modified shake instead. 

A bank of monitors positioned just to the Detective's left allow him to keep both them and Mike in his line of sight at the same time. There are at least six cameras. Safe house he thinks. He doesn't want to give anything away, but he needs to know what kind of ground he's own. He tries to call up what's happened and he's got nothing. He called his older brother, and now he appears to be in custody.

“Am I in custody?”

“No, not formally anyway. I mean I doubt Wes is going to ever let you out of his sight after this. But officially no. Seems you got yourself in a situation, so we're on lockdown.”

“Where is my -,” Mike hesitates. He's been up to his ass in dirty cops lately. Detective Marks could just be one more. He hasn't seen Wes yet, so maybe they don't know who they are to each other, but the man had said something about in-laws. They haven't been in touch in years, but he knows Wes is divorced. Maybe the Detective is related to Wes' ex-wife somehow. 

“How's your side.” Before Mike can respond the Detective is gingerly pulling away the dressing. He inhales sharply.

“Wes should be back up here in a few minutes. I'm not sure where he put the vicodin.”

Mike follows the work of his hand. If there's some good cop bad cop in this, Detective Marks has the good part down. The touch meant to be clinical still soothes. He has to resist the urge to slide his hand over the other man's. To press into the warmth of it. There's a brief moment of deja vu of having been touched like this,with this care. It's feels like it's been a long time since he's been touched by anyone who wasn't angry with him. Page's face flashes in his mind's eye. There's so much there he's can't even begin to unpack now. 

Then there's Briggs so close, taking up all the space in his brain. All around him in his head in a way that feels new, but he can't quite sort through why. 

“Briggs,” he blurts.

Leaning away from him, “Yeah, he's in the mix,” Detective Marks says, his mouth puckering in distaste. Mike doesn't know what to do with that. The bedroom door opens before he can pursue it.

“You smell better at least.” Marks says as Mike's brother steps through the door. There's nothing but playfulness in the Detective's tone. To which he watches his brother respond with a sheepish smile. _Oh. In laws._

It's weird after nearly twenty years, in this particular circumstance for this to be the first glimpse of his brother in the flesh with his husband. Boyfriend? Neither of them are wearing a ring. Obviously, Wes answered his call, but the specifics of that memory is hazy. 

“I'll see what we can do about dinner,” Marks says as his lips brush Wes' cheek. Mike's not sure he's ever seen his brother blush before. He was sixteen the last summer Mike saw him. Listened to him explain that he wouldn't be able to visit the following summer, that there was an in internship and a girl. 

The girls, the last summer Wes spent with him, there had been a lot of girls at the lake trying to talk to his big brother. After that summer, there were always reasons. The six year age difference between them ever harder to bridge. Ten versus sixteen. A twelve year old's concerns versus an eighteen year old's. There were birthday cards, the occasional e-mail. 

“He's....”

“In love with me, just like I am with him. He has my back one hundred percent which means he has yours. I trust him with my life.”

“That's a _lot_ of information.”

“Yeah, Mike, I feel like we don't have the time to bullshit each other. You don't have to worry about Travis.” 

“I don't get a moment to take in that you have a _boyfriend_. That's a change in your S.O.P from what I recall.”

“Like the moment I got before finding you gut shot and bleeding out.”

“Wes.”

“Exactly. Besides my boyfriend isn't the one we need to keep tabs on.”

“What, what are you talking about?”'

Wes' face mirrors the same disgust as Detective Marks'. 

“Agent Briggs.”

“He's my superior.”

“Mikey come on.”

“You spoke to him?”

“We had a meet and greet at Travis' place where we stabilized you. You don't remember?”

“Uh, things are a little hazy.”

“He wasn't acting entirely like the senior agent. There seemed to be um, emotions involved.”

“It's complicated.”

“We're trying to get you off the hook for multiple first degree murders with no support from your agency by letting people think you're dead, so yeah, it's complicated.”

“I'm still processing Wes. My Agency _is_ trying to crucify me and that was before Tecate. _Before_ Tecate. So you don't have to tell me about the lack of support. I got that. I'm well versed in that big brother.”

That stings.

“I'm sorry.”

Mike shrugs. “I'm not taking a shot. You were a kid just like me. I do understand that. I knew you would be there when I needed you. Like you promised.”

Impulsively, Wes reaches out to ruffle his brothers hair. The weight of just how much both of them have missed in not being more a part of each other's lives settles heavily on his shoulders. Once they're clear of this, maybe they can rectify that. But that's for after.

“What's this set up?

“Asset seizure, but way down on the list for auction. Your...Agent Briggs set it up. State of the art security system. No one is going to get in here without us knowing. The BOLO for you is hot. For obvious reasons. You're a diplomatic nightmare. Sid Markham - 

 

Mike flinches as if struck. Against his will, the rise and fall of his chest becomes more pronounced. Being under with Bello, with Fritz was life threatening every hour, every minute, but he'd kept it together. He was strong, bad ass. How is it that just the _mention_ of a name...

 **“Mikey, Mikey. look at me. breathe with me.”**

Cool fingers press against the nape of his neck. His brother presses their temples together. 

“In and out, slowly. In and out. You're safe here. I won't let anything happen to you. In and out. Breathe with me Mikey, you're okay.”

It might be going from bad to worse. The breathing gradually returns to his control, but it's replaced by the prickle of tears. His fingers clutch the fabric of his brother's shirt. 

“I'm tired Wes. It's so much harder than I thought it would be. And Paul -”

"What about him Mikey?"

Mike just shakes his head, unable to find the words.



Of the many houses, Travis has lived in over the years, this house is the most beautiful. Although technically they are not living here, not really. More like temporarily bunking in. At first he'd thought it was too good to be true when Agent Asshole gave them the specs.

A prime piece of real estate, just off of PCH in Malibu, with a pristine white exterior and blues and greens for the interior. It was clean and spare with an unfettered view of the ocean and a state of the art security system.

The last couple of times he'd punched in the security code for the front door, _honey I'm home_ echoed in his head. The words never made it past his lips. Even though he could make it sound like a joke, make it off hand there was just a little pang. He and Wes don't live together. Both afraid that even with the couples counseling, even though things had gotten much better between them if they took that kind of step, one they had both failed at with other people, with no fallback, no personal space to escape to, it could ruin them. 

The truth was though, on this neutral ground, he liked the idea of having a 'key' to a door with Wes on the other side. 

There was no one in the living room which was to be expected. His partner rarely strays from a close proximity to his brother unless Travis is able to relieve him. It hasn't been easy in these early days. Fortunately his background in Narcotics and assignment in a different unit made him a prime candidate for temporary re-assignment to Markham's unit. He was one of a handful of officers transferred over to lend support on their caseload and promote the idea that the LAPD didn't need the Feds or Homeland to clean up their house. Of course Travis' true objective was to keep tabs on Markham who had been put on desk duty. 

Briggs' cover remained intact as far as the PD was concerned. He'd produced a corroborating baby mama and hospital records to support his assertion that he hadn't been in Tecate at all when the ambush happened. Or at any other time. It benefited Markham to keep the truth of what he knew about that quiet so he had. Markham was about as contained as he could be given their resources. They just had to wait it out to see if there were any more rats on the ship. 

 

“What are you doing?”

He's pulled Wes out of his brother's room where he was monitoring the surveillance feed, walked him down to one of the rooms at the end of the same hallway and pushed him into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Like all of the bedrooms on the floor, it has monitors as well.

“I know it's been a few days, but I thought your memory was better than that.” 

Travis can see his own tiredness etched into the lines around his partner's eyes and mouth. A mouth that frowns at him. “We aren't alone Travis.”

“This door has a lock and there are no cameras.” 

Travis follows Wes' gaze to the cabinet on the other side of the room. The driveway cam still only shows Wes' car and Travis' bike. The front entry camera is clear as is the patio, beach and kitchen entrance cam. The view of PCH shows a steady flow of traffic and nothing suspicious and neither does the camera mounted on the roof for a 360 view. In this moment, they are as alone as they're going to get. 

“You alphabetized the spice rack. You need to relax,” He says quietly as his thumbs gently knead the back of Wes' neck. Wes' forehead tilts into his chest. 

“This is my fault Travis.”

“No baby it's not.” Travis massages his fingers up into hair, for the moment letting go the professional aspect of their relationship. He just wants to chase away the pinched defensiveness and sleeplessness that's taken over since they left the trailer. “I'm not going to let them do this to you.”

As if on cue, the alarm on the roof camera beeps. Wes' head moves instantly to look around Travis' body. On the driveway cam Briggs' jeep pulls through the jeep to park way too close to Travis' bike, just a hair away from knocking it over. Travis concentrates on not letting any of his irritation transfer to the hand still stroking through Wes' hair. 

They both watch as Briggs comes through the front door, smirking and making a show of putting his weapon in the gun safe just over the threshold. It's a kind of a compromise to mitigate something irreversible happening in the heat of passion.

Silently, they watch Briggs move through the house until he finds Mike on the balcony, leaning against the railing. Briggs spares no thought to the camera as he moves right up on the other man. Were it not for the fact he's been watching Briggs what seems like 24/7 Travis might have missed the tension going out of his shoulders, a newly present ease in his demeanor as soon as he's within touching distance of Mike. 

Wes had shared what he suspected might be happening between the two of them, but this is the first opportunity Travis has had to witness it. 

Wes pushes against him as he tries to stand. “No, Wes.” The gentle pressure Travis applies to his shoulder keeps him from standing.

“I have this overwhelming urge to ground him.”

On the monitor, Briggs trails his fingers across the hollow of Mike's throat, before resting them lightly against his chest.

“It's kind of hot.”

“He's my little brother Travis.”

“The desire for tall, dark and handsome apparently runs in the Mitchell/Warren family. Got any other secrets you want to share? Wes?

Travis tries to keep it light. If he can just get Wes back on the path they were on five minutes ago...

“Paul Briggs.”

“You wanna have a threesome?”

“TRAVIS.”

“Just checking baby. Still waters and all. Hate sex might be a kink you forgot to tell me about.”

"If that were the case we wouldn't have gone through the plate glass."

Tearing his eyes away from the monitor, Wes presses his body into his boyfriend's.

“He's a killer Travis. More than in the line of duty, or fear for his life. When he was choking me out...he has a body count.”

The rage Travis felt when he saw Briggs' hands around Wes' neck washes over him again. It kills the mood entirely. Back to business.

“You think your brother knows? He's doing some kind of reverse sting on him? Honey trap?”

“Mike was a sweet, good kid. This Mike...He's going to turn Mikey into a killer, Travis. My brother won't have a choice. Briggs won't give him one.” 

There's more pain and fear there than Travis has heard since the late night rescue of Mike Warren. He threads his fingers through the fine strands of his partner's hair strokes across his cheek. 

“If someone has to pull the trigger on Briggs, it can't be Mike. It will ruin him.” 

Travis glances at the monitor where all it looks like Briggs is trying to turn Warren into is a man who isn't wearing a shirt and possibly pants. Briggs twists at Warren's clothed nipple as his mouth works against the man's neck. It's still kind of hot. Like watching Hollywood versions of themselves. Or of Wes. The younger brother definitely rocks some fabulous hair, but Travis will always be prettier than Paul Briggs. 

Travis holds his tongue. Doesn't say that it will ruin Wes too if he's the one to do it. Doesn't say that watching Briggs the last few days has prompted him to run through a list of siblings he will probably never mention to Wes. The ones who would have no qualms disappearing someone in law enforcement, who would do it no questions asked just because it was for Travis. 

In these last few days he's watched Briggs lie, watched him effortlessly have conversations with Markham, the nature of being a UC. Travis understands that, had to do a bit of that in his time in Narcotics. But there's a duck to water quality about the way Briggs does it that's unsettling. In spite of knowing the truth and dealing with the disruptive effect on his life and relationship, when Briggs spins a tale, a theory as Detective West, the pull to believe and follow his lead is tangible. Travis suspects that what Wes wants to save in his brother has already been ruined. 

The question is no longer whether Briggs rolls more like a perp than law enforcement. The answer is Paul Briggs is a straight up menace to society.



Mike pulls away because he needs to breathe, because this should not be happening. It's come back to him that it's not the first time. He's admitted to himself that this is a thing that may have crossed his mind, late late at night when he's raiding the fridge at Graceland and there are still traces of Brigg's cologne in the air. Or on those early surf mornings watching Briggs come out of the water. All pre,very pre-Tecate. Pre-Odin Rossi. This situation has fucked him up six ways to Sunday. Wes has his back, but he's got to help himself.

 

“You're Odin Rossi.”

That stops the nimble fingers moving beneath the waistband of his borrowed sweat pants. 

“I don't need to hear anything from you. I don't need you to insult me by trying to deny it. Or not trying to deny it. I need to say it out loud. You need to be clear that I don't suspect. I know.”

That insufferable 'I'm fifty-two steps ahead of you' smile breaks across handsome, flushed features.

“What Markham did is so much worse than anything I ever did. He's the target now. He's the one we need to get.”

“It's so fucked up that you believe that. That I know you're not shitting me. That you managed to get me as compromised as Charlie.”

“You're not pregnant too are you?”

“You win Paul, always and forever top of the class.”

“We're on the same side Levi, the same team. Family.”

Briggs' hand stretches toward Warren's injured side. Mike flinches away.

“Everything doesn't have to be so hard. You don't want it to be this hard between us. Just let it be what it is.”

“We aren't both going to survive.”

“Doesn't mean we can't both win.”

It's been coming for a long while. This surrender. Mike Warren leans in, lets it be what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So because I didn't finish this before the new season started, I haven't actually seen any of the third season yet. I have a lot of marathon watching to do. Maybe once I've caught up, I'll make a universe out of it.


End file.
